The morning I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror wasn’t dramatic. There was no memorable moment of revelation—just a quiet disconnection from the tired eyes staring back at me. Who was this woman with small lines on her face and overweight around her frame?
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Over a decade ago, I developed the concept of sustainability plans and researched secondary traumatic stress, compassion fatigue, and burnout. I knew the theories inside out. Yet somehow, I had become a case study in my research without even noticing.
Parenting a child with a chronic illness slowly changed me. What started as manageable stress quietly became a way of life. By 2022, when one of my children experienced a massive flare requiring eight months of home hospitalization, I was already operating on autopilot, handling only what was necessary.
As a result, I disconnected from my own body. Only in retrospect did I realize that I had resorted to a defense mechanism of depersonalizing my body.
The Invisible Separation
What I’ve come to understand is that, at some point, I began to depersonalize—a psychological defense mechanism that helps protect us by creating distance from overwhelming experiences. It’s the mind’s way of coping, making you feel disconnected from your own body, emotions, or sense of self.
It’s often described as:
- Watching yourself act but not feeling in control.
- A sense of disconnect that your body, voice, or actions don’t feel like they truly belong to you.
- Emotional numbness or a sense of being “flat” inside.
- Feeling unreal, like you don’t exist.
Depersonalization can happen during times of intense stress, trauma, or exhaustion, and while it may be a temporary coping mechanism, it can become chronic in some anxiety disorders or trauma-related conditions like PTSD.
The Physiological Impact of Chronic Advocacy
The body, like a sponge, absorbs the toll and ongoing stress. Stress operates biologically in the same way in all of us. Still, it manifests differently in each of us and depends on so many variables such as genetics, trauma history, financial and social support, and more.
Some of the impacts of chronic stress can manifest as the following:
- Sleep disturbances and chronic fatigue.
- Compromised immune function, getting sick more often, or even developing chronic conditions.
- Cardiac issues related to stress.
- Difficulty to focus, attain and retain information.
- Metabolic issues, GI issues, and weight fluctuation.
- Cognitive challenges (sometimes called “advocate brain fog“) manifest as difficulty in focus, memory, and retention.
Parenting children with chronic conditions can create a bidirectional relationship between parents’ physiological, psychological, emotional, cognitive, social, and financial health, as the stress of caregiving impacts parental health, which in turn influences the overall care and support the child receives.
Trauma Beyond the Textbook
Trauma isn’t always about direct danger. Clinical understanding now recognizes that witnessing a loved one’s suffering can be just as traumatic. Many parents of chronically ill children meet the full criteria for PTSD, experiencing flashbacks, hypervigilance, and exhaustion.
A father I once worked with described it as follows: “I jump every time my phone rings during school hours.” That reaction is the nervous system‘s adaptation to repeated emergencies.
Clinical criteria for trauma have evolved to recognize that witnessing a loved one in distress can be as traumatizing as experiencing threat directly. Parents of children with chronic conditions meet the criteria for secondary traumatic stress or even PTSD, experiencing:
- Intrusive thoughts and flashbacks of their child’s worst episodes.
- Hypervigilance for signs of symptom return.
- Avoidance of potential triggers.
- Emotional numbing as a protection mechanism.
Despite the knowledge I’ve gained and the support systems I’ve built over the years, I wasn’t able to shield myself from the effects of chronic stress. Even with all my training in sustainability and trauma-informed care, I struggled to care for myself while caring for everyone else.
But I don’t judge myself for that—I did my best in an extraordinary and ongoing situation.
So what’s the takeaway I want to share with you—my fellow parents walking this complicated road?
It’s simple: You are good enough.
You are doing the best you can, and only those who have walked a similar path can truly understand what this takes.
The Key Is Returning to the Basics
The goal isn’t to change how you feel.
When we try to override or fix our emotions, it sends a message to the body and mind that something is wrong with us—that we need to be repaired. That message alone can activate the stress response and push us right back into survival mode.
It’s natural to want to be positive. None of us wants to feel fear, sadness, or pain. But discomfort is part of being human—it’s not a personal failure.
The work isn’t about eliminating pain.
It’s about expanding our capacity to sit with it.
A Gentle Rule of Self-Compassion
Remind yourself:
I am always doing the best I can.
In moments of trauma, survival mechanisms take over. You couldn’t have responded differently at the time—and that’s OK.
When you try to change or criticize how you feel, your system contracts.
When you allow and accept, your system expands.
You can say: “It’s OK to feel this.” Or, “I don’t like feeling this, but it’s OK that I do.”
This simple self-talk helps soothe your nervous system. The more you practice, the more ease you can access—even in difficult moments.
ETI Simplified Self-Compassion Practice
Think of a situation in your life that is distressing.
- Name it. What am I feeling right now?
- Rate it. On a scale of 1–10, how strong is this feeling?
- Normalize it. “XXX feeling is part of life. Everyone feels this way sometimes.”
- Ground yourself. Look around the room and notice if you are in a safe space, then say to yourself: “It’s OK. I am [your name]. I am here. I am safe right now.”
- Re-check the feeling. Has the number changed? Repeat until it drops to 5 or below.
This small practice can help you build the inner space to sit with whatever arises—grief, fear, exhaustion—without needing to fix or flee.
With time, you may find yourself less overwhelmed by emotional highs and lows, and more anchored in a quiet steadiness.
Not because life is easier, but because you have become more resourced to meet it.
This is the heart of sustainable caregiving: not perfection, not constant strength—but presence, self-compassion, and the capacity to stay connected to yourself, even in the hardest moments.
However you feel—whatever you’re feeling—remember: you are doing the best you can in this moment. Let that be your starting place.
